


Rhyme

by Amythe3lder



Series: Irregular Pieces [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Background mygolly, Favours, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock Tries To Be A Bit Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a baby laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaimistoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/gifts).



> I got the green light  
> I got a little fight  
> I'm gonna turn this thing around  
> "Read My Mind"- The Killers

Sherlock Holmes had reasons for everything he did. At times, his purpose may be nothing grander than  ~~because I want to~~  scientific methods, but a few times his motives had been so inscrutable that even he had remained ignorant despite his best efforts to discover what he was doing behind his own back.

His first project had been himself, really. He had assured himself that reading Gary Chapman’s book about communication in intimacy was simply and entirely for the Magnussen scheme. The truth was, actual courtship skills had not been necessary to secure Janine’s cooperation at all, nor could the incentive of the case account for the way in which he’d devoured and absorbed the new information. That was not to say that the only use he had found for the author’s ideas had been in his own relationship with his blogger. The detective had begun to see new meanings behind the behavioural patterns in all of his associates. Unfortunately, the subject matter was fairly specific, so what he was deducing was even more private than knowing the bare facts of who was shagging whom. In addition to the obvious  _when_ ,  _where_ , and  _how_ , he now knew  _why_ as well, and that was far more disconcerting.

This notion that people expressed their affection for one another in ways that may not be immediately recognisable had spread roots into other areas of his consciousness. The only friends he had that were in a successful relationship were in one with his brother, and this gave him pause. He was slowly becoming aware that decades of fraternal meddling should be read as Mycroft caring for him in the only way he had known how, and it had been poorly received. Sherlock thought that he probably owed him a favour, and because he was more used to being on the other side of that equation, he was unsure how to go about it.

Elanor distracted him from his thoughts for a moment by waking up from her nap and launching into a tirade. Her babble was mostly noise, but just recently, he and John had noticed her using actual words. Her first had been predictable, though there was no real way of ascertaining that she knew what “tea” was.

At first.

When he had pointed this out to a proud John, Elanor had stopped her background chatter, and met his eyes with a disdainful expression. She waved a chubby arm at the tea he’d left on the floor to go cold while they had confirmed for her that everyone present, in fact, had noses of their very own.

“Tea,” she had primly insisted.

John had blinked at her. Evidently feeling that she could make her point clearer still, she had reached over, knocked the cup on its side, and splashed her dimpled hand in the resultant puddle all before they could shift themselves into action from their stunned silence.

When John had scooped her up, she was muttering to herself and predictably tasting the spilled beverage. “Tea, tea!” she’d demanded, before happily rubbing her soggy fingers into her blonde hair.

Sherlock had shrugged at his doctor. “She makes a compelling argument.”

“Here’s another: clean up your mess.”

In response, he had purposefully misunderstood and addressed the baby in the shorter man’s arms, “Did you hear what he called you?” he asked her, pretending to be offended on her behalf. She giggled. John was trying not to do likewise. He had that effect on Watsons.

The sounds of John or Elanor in 221B had replaced every other item on his personal list of favourite noises. Nothing: not the metallic  _grindflick_  of a cigarette lighter or the  _dwo-ping_  of an incoming text message could ever compare with the  _snap_  of John switching on the electric kettle or the  _clunkskitter_  of Elanor playing with her toys as she was doing now. And today, he had learned a new way to make the baby girl laugh. That was the best thing he’d ever heard, so he tried it again when she gave him an opening.

“Thock?” she inquired, pointing at her miniature stripped stocking that had come off all on its own, he was certain.

“Sock,” he agreed gravely as he slid it back onto her foot, then indicated one of her stackable shapes and followed up with, “Block.”

She twittered with delight. Her language was expanding exponentially. John had wondered if they had finally found a practical use for his tendency to prattle on, citing that as the cause of his daughter’s accelerated verbal skills. Whatever the cause, at only six months old, she was quickly covering distance in the race to the next milestone. Sherlock had a private worry that she would get too far ahead of her peers to relate back to them, as he and his brothers had. But then, Mycroft was the sharpest out of the three of them, and he had used it to carve himself a niche. Elanor would be all right, too. As they continued to play their game, the detective considered his brother and his friends, and favours owed. He thought he had it worked out. If he got a positive response when he proposed tonight at dinner, and everyone else was willing to be in the wedding as cast rather than audience, he might be able to do something nice for three people at once.

“Tea?” the tiny talker suggested, and it was Sherlock’s turn to chuckle at how much she managed to mimic her father’s inflection in one word.

“Um... hm. Me,” he finally settled on.

She looked puzzled. She pointed to him and requested clarification. "Tea?”

He was thought for a moment, then smiled and picked her up. “No,” he said, “I’m not tea. Though sometimes people do fix me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is taking place during chapter 12 of _Happiness Shared_.


End file.
